


breathless

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Breathplay, Bruises, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras just really wants Grantaire's hand around his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathless

It's the middle of the day and the apartment is quiet, the sounds of the world outside muffled by the doors and windows, all shut. Inside, there's only the quiet in-and-out of their breath, the sound of Grantaire's brush against the canvas, the rustle of sheets as Enjolras settles back into the bed in a more comfortable position. 

"I told you not to move," Grantaire admonishes gently, but he doesn't really mind. Immobility doesn't suit Enjolras; he is the kind of man who needs to constantly be in action. Even now, lying back in Grantaire's bed, he shifts every couple of minutes. It's part of who he is and it doesn't bother Grantaire because he does his best to capture that constant need to be moving, to be _doing_ something. 

The picture he is painting focuses on Enjolras' face, the way he's leaning back against the pillows propped up behind him, uncovered by the blankets. It only captures him from the chest up and Grantaire works with the speed of one with plenty of practice. This certainly isn't the first time Enjolras has modeled for Grantaire and it's unlikely to be the last. 

"There," Grantaire breathes, once he's done painting Enjolras' features; his blue eyes, his nose, the slight curve to his lips. "Now, for the finishing touches…"

Grantaire mixes his paint, barely looking away from Enjolras, and brings his brush to the canvas, to his painted Enjolras' neck. Glancing over the top of the canvas, he begins to paint the light, finger-shaped bruises. Enjolras tilts his head back, to show them off even more. He's proud of them. Grantaire shakes his head with a small grin. 

This had all been Enjolras' idea to begin with. He's the one who had pulled Grantaire on top of him last night and whispered, "I want your hand around my throat." 

Grantaire's immediate reaction had been to groan, "Fuck yes," and then, "but what if I bruise that pretty neck of yours?"

Enjolras had smiled at him then, and that's all Grantaire needed to know that was part of the plan. "Maybe tomorrow morning after we wake up, I'll sit still long enough for you to paint the marks you leave. So we won't forget."

Grantaire finds his own breath growing shallow as he replays the previous night in his head; his hand around Enjolras' neck, the trust in Enjolras' eyes, the way Grantaire had fucked him, tightening his grip until the usual cries were nothing more than breathless gasps. 

"You're thinking about it." Enjolras' voice brings Grantaire back to the present and he can't tell if Enjolras' voice really is huskier than normal, or if that's just his imagination. 

There's a smile on Enjolras' face and he's lying naked in bed; Grantaire can see the way he's getting hard. To be fair, Grantaire didn't bother putting clothes on when he got out of bed either, so Enjolras can see that the same is true of him. 

"So are you." Grantaire paints the bruises with loving detail. He put them there. Enjolras let him. Enjolras asked him to do it. 

"I've been thinking about it for days," Enjolras tells him. He moves a hand down to stroke himself lazily. Grantaire, deciding the painting's done, begins washing his brushes. "I knew your hand would feel good on my throat. Strong and precise. Just what I needed."

"Yeah?" Grantaire asks, crawling onto the bed. His hand goes back to Enjolras' neck and he squeezes gently. "You wanted a reminder of how dangerous I'm capable of being, is that it?"

"You're capable of many— _oh_ ," Enjolras' words turn into a gasp as Grantaire tightens his grip. Eyes fluttering shut, Enjolras' lips part with a sigh. He's completely hard now, pressing against Grantaire's hip. "Please."

" _Please_ ," Grantaire repeats incredulously, laughing. He kisses along Enjolras' jaw. "You really think you need to use that word, with me? You know I'd do anything you say."

"Fuck me," Enjolras gasps out, and Grantaire lets go of him just long enough to grab the condoms and lube from where they're sitting on his bedside table. He rolls Enjolras over, slick fingers stretching him open while his other hand returns to Enjolras' throat. 

"This what you want?" Grantaire asks, kissing Enjolras' shoulder. Enjolras responds with a quiet whine, which then turns into a moan when Grantaire pushes his fingers deeper, curling them so they brush against his prostate. 

He teases Enjolras because he can, because he likes the fact that Enjolras is at the complete mercy of both his hands. He waits until Enjolras begins to grow impatient before finally rolling a condom on and slicking himself up, pushing in. 

"What do you do if you want me to stop?" Grantaire asks, before he starts thrusting. Enjolras hits the headboard twice in quick succession with his open palm. Grantaire hums in approval, kissing the skin behind Enjolras' ear before he snaps his hips forward.

Enjolras is normally loud in bed, just the same as he's loud in every other aspect of life. Now, all he is capable of are cut-off moans, gasps that sound vaguely like Grantaire's names. It's a thrill for Grantaire to know that he's doing this, that he's managed to reduce Enjolras into a gasping, writhing mess.

Then, Enjolras hits the headboard twice and Grantaire immediately lets go, pausing his thrusts as well.

" _Don't stop_." Enjolras' voice is quiet, but just as demanding as ever. "Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire—"

"You missed being able to talk." Grantaire laughs, both his hands going to Enjolras' hips. "Fuck, I love you."

Enjolras hums contentedly and Grantaire's glad that he's already said it, a long time ago. It means he doesn't have to worry about what comes out of his mouth when they're in bed, like this. He holds Enjolras down and fucks him hard, until Enjolras can draw breaths deep enough to moan for _more, harder, please, Grantaire, please_ , and this is just as good as before. He wraps his fingers around Enjolras' cock and pumps in time with their thrusts and Enjolras comes with a shout, his voice hoarse. Grantaire swears loudly, following closely behind.

" _Fuck_ ," Grantaire breathes, when they pull apart. Enjolras rolls over, and there are new marks on his neck that Grantaire bends down to kiss. "You're beautiful. Do I tell you that often enough?"

"Three times a day, at the very least." The smile in Enjolras' voice says that he doesn't mind at all. 

"Upping that to four. You're so fucking beautiful." Grantaire grabs a towel to wipe them both down. "Are you okay? I didn't press too tight?"

"You'd know if you did." Enjolras pulls the towel out of Grantaire's hand and puts it aside, pulling Grantaire closer. "This is what I want right now."

"Cuddles, O fearless leader?" Grantaire grins at him. "Always happy to provide."

Enjolras opens his mouth to say something else, but Grantaire knows exactly what he wants. He rests his hand lightly on the side of Enjolras' throat and as they drift off to sleep, he feels Enjolras' smiling lips pressed against his own.


End file.
